


Crack

by Entropy House (AnonEhouse)



Category: Drake's Venture (1980)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Paralysis, Psychic Bond, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Entropy%20House
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people are destined to meet again and again. Such bonds can be violently torn, but always reform. Sir Francis Drake and the innocent friend he executed on a beach in Patagona realize the truth too late... or is it too late? For them, there are always chances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crack

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

He shouldn't have been able to hear it, not over the screams from the crowd going wild over the game-winning touchdown, not over the chant from the cheerleaders only a few feet away on the sidelines. 'Do it, Do it, Do-tee Again!' had been dinning in his ears for the last hour every time the rival quarterback got his hands on the ball.

And every time Tommy Dowty took off his helmet for a drink of Gatorade, he had grinned at Ernest. He was trying to get Ernest's goat, and he did. Ernie the Firedragon, nicknamed for his hair (his friends said), his temper (everyone else said) had been breathing fire and trying to get at Dowty with nothing more on his mind than ripping him apart. Dowty's team had been too good at protecting him, up until now, when the game was for all intents and purposes over, and besides, it was against the rules to tackle after the touchdown.

Ernie didn't care about rules. He didn't care if they benched him for the rest of the season. He didn't even care if they kicked him out of high school a month before graduation. He tackled Dowty hard, intending to wipe off that smirk for good. 

He shouldn't have been able to hear the crack.

*******

Ernest fidgeted in the waiting room. The nurse had taken his name in a long time ago it seemed. Now that Tom was out of intensive care he could have visitors. Ernest hadn't wanted to come, but he had to. He kept lying awake at night, hearing that crack he shouldn't have been able to hear, getting up from the tackle he shouldn't have made, and seeing the look of terror on Tom Dowty's face.

He'd be all right. He had to be. His family was rich as Midas; they could build their own hospital if they wanted. Buy and sell the finest surgeons in the world. Someone would come out and tell Ernest to go away, and that would be it, he'd done his social duty, and after all it was an accident, these things happened. No one really blamed him for getting too excited to think. Football was a rough game. Things happen.

The nurse came up to him. "He wants to see you." She followed him into the private room, and sat down far enough away to give the illusion of privacy to her patient, and his visitor. 

He didn't know what to say. Tommy was so pale, he looked like the milk glass Ernest's aunt collected. He could see the blue of the veins under the skin where I.V.s went in, and his hair, eyebrows and eyelashes looked even darker than he remembered by comparison. Machines sucked and clicked. The room was cold, and smelled of strong antiseptics. Everything was spotless. Cold and pure and pitiless. Tommy reminded Ernest of a polished marble statue, except for his eyes, which rested on Ernest with a fury that was the only warmth and life in the room.

"I'm sorry," Ernest said. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

Tommy's eyes narrowed. He spoke so softly that Ernest had to lean forward to listen. "You're still lying. You always lied. You always hurt me."

Ernest blinked. Maybe Tommy's pain-meds were too high. The nurse was watching, so he didn't respond to the anger in Tommy's soft voice. "It was an accident."

Tommy's eyes burned into his. "You wanted fame, and I stood in your way."

Ernest felt heat rising up his cheeks. "I only wanted to win." He began to back away. "Look, I'm sorry I bothered you. I'll go."

"Wait!" Tommy sounded desperate. Ernest could see a vein pounding in his neck. The nurse started to rise, frowning. Tommy looked at her. "It's all right, but please, I need to speak to him alone. Just for a minute."

The nurse hesitated. "I can't leave the room." She pulled a Walkman headset from her pocket. "But I can just watch-- only for a minute." She put on the headphones and sat down again.

Tommy's eyes turned back to Ernest. "I died. You know, it really does happen the way they say. I saw the light, and I could have gone through it and been ...free. But when I was halfway through, I looked back. All the way back. And I saw us, Frank... Francis... you've had so many names."

Definitely way over-tranked. Ernest nodded. "Uh huh."

"I came back because I need you to understand. Touch me, Francis," Tommy's desperation was obvious. "Just this once, trust me and let me lead the way. Take my hand."

This was weirder all the time. "Will you feel it?" 

"No," Tommy said, sadly.

Ernest found the idea extremely creepy and disgusting. But he nerved himself up to take the chill, limp fingers in his own, preparing to say something stupid about Tommy's recovery. Then he gasped, and tightened his grip for a moment before releasing Tommy's hand to fall back against the sheets. He stared at Tommy. "My God. How many times?"

Tommy closed his eyes. Tears began leaking from under his lashes. He whispered, "Too many. And it always hurts, Francis. It always hurts."

Ernest... Francis, put his hand up carefully, and wiped away Tommy's tears. "I won't leave you alone."

Tommy opened his eyes and smiled.

*******

Ernest's family never understood why he gave up his plans to become a Navy fighter pilot and see the world. And why he'd chosen nursing, of all things, totally baffled them. They could understand him feeling guilty about Tom Dowty, but Ernest had never been the sort to sacrifice anything for anyone, let alone his whole life to tend to a cripple twenty-four hours a day.

There were other nurses in attendance, of course, but Ernest was the one who slept in Tommy's room, who bathed him and took care of his most intimate needs, who played chess with him, and installed the latest computer and video equipment to bring the world into the confines of the four walls that made up Thomas's universe.

And in return, each time he touched Thomas, they shared the lives that had gone on before, both the good and the bad; the times when they had been so sublimely in tune that nothing could stop them, and the times they destroyed each other.

Ernest and the doctors did everything they could.

Thomas Dowtie died at twenty-seven of an infection his frail body couldn't defeat even with all their help. He knew when the end approached. Ernest held him in his arms, sharing one last time. Tommy smiled and whispered, "We'll meet again. We always do."

Ernest wept for a week, and then went on a cruise around the world. They said later that he must have been drunk when he fell overboard.

*******

Postscript:

"I read it in a nursing journal," the pediatrician admitted. "It seems worth a try."

The head nurse obeyed instructions, carefully laying the squirming boy baby next to his fragile, underweight twin in the same bassinet, carefully checking that the lines connecting the tiny boy to his monitors were clear. The sturdy boy wriggled, and then put his arm over his brother's chest. She checked the monitor readout, and smiled as the heartbeat and respiration stabilized. "That's right, Red, look after your little brother."


End file.
